Page 25 of Keep My Alpha

“You’re...” He swallows. “You’re very thorough.”

“Mm.” I kiss the spot again, then the one above it, then the curve of his ribs. I work my way across his chest, slow, figuring out every spot that makes him twitch. His nipple goes tight when I breathe on it, so I circle it with my tongue, just testing. His back arches off the bed.

“Oh. Okay. That’s—yeah.”

I do it again, slower, and his hand fists in my hair hard enough to sting. Good. I want every sound, every flinch, every place that makes him shake. I want the full map.

I keep going down. His stomach, the soft skin below his navel, the waistband of his joggers. His hips roll before he can stop them, and I can smell his slick now, sweet and sharp, cutting through everything else in the room.

“I want to taste you,” I say against his hip. My voice comes out rougher than I meant it to. “Can I?”

His breathing is ragged. “You don’t have to—“

“That’s not what I asked.”

He looks down at me, eyes huge and blown, lip caught between his teeth. “Yes,” he whispers. “God, yes.”

I hook my fingers into his waistband, joggers and underwear together, and pull them down. Slow. He lifts his hips to help, and then he’s bare, and I’m between his thighs, and I take a second to look.

His cock is hard against his stomach, flushed dark and leaking from the tip, precum trailing down to his navel. His thighs fall open, slick glistening on the insides, catching the afternoon light. Lower, his hole is wet and swollen, clenching on nothing, and the sight stops me cold. This is mine. He’s letting me see this. Letting me have this. Every possessive thing in me goes still and certain.

He is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve spent four years looking at wood grain and thinking that was art.

He shifts, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry, I’m—it’s a lot, I know—“

“Don’t.” I press my palm flat against his inner thigh, holding him open. My thumb slides through the slick gathered there, warm, almost hot, slippery between my fingers. “Don’t you dare apologize for this.”

I lean down and kiss the inside of his knee instead of saying anything else.

He shivers. I kiss higher. The tender skin of his inner thigh, where the muscle goes soft. He’s trembling under my hands. I kiss the crease where his thigh meets his hip, and he makes a sound that goes straight to my cock, this broken little ah that he tries to muffle with his hand.

I reach up and pull his hand away from his mouth. “I want to hear you.”

His fingers lace through mine and squeeze. His eyes look wet.

I go down on his balls, drag my tongue over them, light and flat, and his hips jerk. I keep him steady with one hand on his hip, thumb rubbing circles into the bone, and I take my time until his thighs are shaking. Then I move lower.

I press my thumbs into the creases of his thighs and spread him open, settling between his legs so my breath ghosts over his hole. He whimpers at just that, just the warm air, and his hole clenches, a fresh bead of slick sliding down.

My first drag of tongue is slow and deliberate, flat, wide, from his taint all the way up across his rim. He’s hot against my tongue, silky and swollen, and the taste floods my mouth. Sweet and salt and something underneath that’s just Soren, rich and good and mine.

He cries out. Not even a word, just pure sound, so honest it makes my hands shake. His hips buck hard, his thighs clamp around my head, and I have to hold him down with both hands.

I lick into him slow. Long strokes, letting slick smear across my mouth and chin. Then the tip of my tongue, circling his rim, pressing in where he’s hot and tight and his body just opens for me like it was waiting. His hand finds my hair and pulls, hard, and I groan against him because my brain has left the building. The vibration makes his thighs clamp tighter.

“Wren, oh my god—“

I seal my mouth over his hole and suck, and every part of me is just chanting mine, mine, mine on repeat. I’d be embarrassed if I could think straight. His slick is all over my chin and jaw. The wet sounds between us are filthy and just make me want more.

His purring starts. Low in his chest, a deep rumble against my lips and through my knuckles where they press into his thighs. That sound sinks into my bones. This is Soren feeling safe.

I pull back and press one finger against his hole, rubbing slick around the rim in slow circles. His hole pulses under the pad of my finger, trying to pull me inside, heat radiating off him.

“Please,” he gasps, hips rocking in tiny helpless movements. “Please, I need—Wren, please.”

“I know.” I watch his face and push one finger in. Slow. His rim stretches, a brief clench of resistance, and then his body takes me, hot and silky and tight. I slide in deeper and stop. His mouth falls open, chest heaving, and his pulse is right there, hammering against my finger.

“Okay?” I murmur.